Excerpt for Poetry for the Soul by David Barron, available in its entirety at Smashwords

Poetry for the Soul

By

David Barron

Published at Smashwords.com

Copyright 2011 David Barron

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This book is a work of pure fiction and has come solely from the imagination of the author. All names, places, and people mentioned are used fictitiously.

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Table of Contents

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Buy me a bag sir

Tempest of Hate

My Scotia

All Seeing Eye

Andromeda Falls

My faded Love

Arranging Thoughts

Forgotten Land

Holocaust

The Butterfly

Small White Coffin

Whose bells Peel

The Child

The Shadow

The Alchemist

I Walked in Woods where trees were Gold

The Red Poppy

Plant thy Seed

Lifeless Form once filled with Joy

Mason of Damnation

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Buy me a bag sir.

What drug is this that takes from me all strife?

That fortunes hold has destroyed my life,

Where once all happy home and children running free,

Now all is gone and left, just crack head me,

Who once again must shop to fill the day?

With cravings for my life, now wasted all away,

Although no money will I spend,

My dealings soon will justify the trend,

For if I’m caught then what the hell it’s fine,

Just means today I shall not dine,

On white or brown, a little bag or three,

To keep me up and give me sole company,

For what do I care when you all look at me and say junkie,

Yes and when I’m out my face, and act the silly monkey,

I feel nothing, hope nor love, nor kindest stare,

For what is left is shell with cupboard bare,

Feel no sorrow for me; I’ve none for you,

This is life for me now what I must do,

Don’t throw to me a few bare coins upon the street,

For you only buy my bag and nought to eat,

I’m dying and my world will soon turn black,

Then all that’s left behind a rock of crack.

Tempest of Hate

A tempest of hate swarms the hellish gates,

From out of blackened night fights the sun’s sweet rays,

For they have massed to take our day,

Then all will fall and day will fade away.

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The wind howls through the saddened trees,

That shares the stench of fetid deaths foul breath,

Now massed armies make there way to our bright land,

Moving slow over beach of golden sand.

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